Messin' With Sasquatch
by carocali
Summary: S4. Trying to bridge the widening gap between the brothers, Dean decides to bring back the Prank Wars to lighten the mood but ends up putting Sam in the line of fire. After Wishful Thinking. Written for Geminigrl11 and TraSan.
1. Chapter 1

So these beef jerky commercials have been haunting me; this _Messin' with Sasquatch_ ad campaign in the States. I knew I wanted to use the title but I wasn't sure how. I just started writing and this is what came out.

_Dean wants to revive the Prank Wars in order to find some balance between the brothers again. Unfortunately, a simple prank puts Sam's life in peril as Dean races against the clock to find his brother. This is a healthy balance of angst and limp._

Honestly, this is **_not_** my best work, and it's because I didn't have any beta input on this piece. BUT the reason I _don't_ have a beta is because I've written this _for_ my betas, Geminigrl11 and TraSan. Times have been rough as of late and these two friends have been there through thick and thin, always encouraging and supporting me. I can never thank you enough for all you do! ALL mistakes are mine, including horrible plot points and bad grammar.

I'd also like to send a huge hug to Irismay and Rozzy as well. I finally got to talk with them while I was in Scotland and they're every bit as charming as I'd imagined. You two have been amazing through all this writing malarky as well! So thank you.

Here's the craziness. I hope that some part of it is enjoyable. It's two parts with the second part being finished now. I expect to post on Monday (fingers crossed).

I didn't sign up for "Summer of Sam" and I'm not sure that this qualifies, but thanks to all those wonderful stories that have come from that initiative. Faye, you rock!

:D

Caroline

-o-o-o-o-

**After _Wishing Well_**

_Oh yeah, this will be perfect._

The girl was sitting at the desk, thrumming her fingers on the yellowed pages, pretending to be fully engrossed in her novel. Dean watched her long, mousy brown hair fall gently to the page as she brushed it upwards and off her face, sighing softly. Thick glasses and a slight unibrow graced her visage. Her untidy appearance and mismatched clothing donned a slim physique and bony fingers.

But he knew what was really going on.

Dean watched as the woman's eyes were glued to Sam like a suction cup to the window. Her body twitched every so often in some sort of anticipation of movement from his brother. Dean caught her following Sam's torso to the wooden chair that supported his backside, tilting her head slightly as she tried to get the entire angle in her vision. He couldn't help but smile at the atypical behavior of the "gift" before him.

And, as usual, Sam was oblivious to her female wiles as he researched their latest case like a madman.

Not that Dean would particularly choose this girl for his brother but this just had the makings of something fun.

_Messin' with Sasquatch_.

After the weirdness in Concrete, Washington with the possible Big Foot sighting (which was actually a psychotic Teddy Bear turned real via wishing well) and those constant Beef Jerky commercials with the stupid people making _fun_ of Big Foot, Dean knew that the stars were in line. He'd thought fondly of the Prank Wars – Nair, itching powder, the spoon in the mouth - and how he could bring his brother to the pinnacle of discomfort in the quickest period of time. Now. The best medicine was always laughter in Dean's book and Lord knew they needed _some_ laughter in their lives.

Dean was still surprised that he'd actually confessed to remembering his time in hell to his little brother a few days back but holding it in just wasn't possible any longer. Of course, Uriel's big angelic mouth busting him out to Sam didn't help matters any but in a weird way, it felt good to get the secret off his chest. At least _part_ of it. He wasn't sure that he'd ever tell Sam the whole story of his time in Hell.

In any case, they'd left that job with lots of unanswered questions and more awkwardness between them, as if there wasn't enough already. Hallmark didn't exactly make a "Sorry you spent some time in Hell" card and the guilt on Sam's face at what Dean had confessed was horrifying. It's why he never wanted Sam to know in the first place. Their relationship may have been strained, but Dean didn't blame Sam – it was _Dean's_ decision to make the deal.

They were definitely not on their "A" game, so a little fun had to be had in order to bring things back around; show them how to laugh again.

Even if it was at the expense of an unassuming librarian in the middle of nowhere.

It was now or never as Sam had his nose buried deep in an ancient tome that they'd received permission to look through from said book keeper. That, in itself, must have piqued the girl's interest.

"I gotta take a leak. You okay?" Dean asked, hovering over his brother, waiting impatiently for an answer. It was nice to see Geek Boy again, even if it was just a quick side job for Bobby. Winchesters vs. Evil. God, he'd missed the simplicity of that.

But God was the problem; well at least, his _angels_ were the problem. They'd inferred that Sam was up to some serious no good with Ruby but they didn't know exactly what it was. Dean had seen him exorcise Samhain with his mind, and that scared the crap out of him. The angels had also implied there was a good chance they'd smite his brother right then and there unless Dean pulled him in a different direction – back to the 'good' side. So, when Bobby asked them to run this hunt, Dean jumped at the chance to let things settle down a bit. A good old-fashioned hunt, filled with hours of research – Sam's specialty. And a way to keep him from Ruby.

This felt good. Really good.

"I got it," Sam began, ready to expand on the whole of his research. "I'm trying to find out if the Chinese sword was really from the Three…"

"Stop. Really, I don't want to know. You'll may make my ears bleed if you continue," Dean interrupted, putting his hands up in mock disgust. "Once you do your geek thing and tell me the particulars of the case, we'll figure out the rest. But right now, I gotta go. I'll… be back. Later." With that, Dean turned on his heel and split down the dimly lit corridor towards the bathroom watching as Sam huffed at the sudden departure.

Quickly making his way back around in a stealth maneuver, Dean wound up in front of the library information desk, staring at the woman staring at his brother.

"You know, he mentioned you," Dean said with a slight cough, startling the woman from her assumed not-so-nice thoughts. He motioned his head in Sam's direction, wiggling his eyebrows. As she returned the glance, Dean noted her stunningly beautiful, makeup-free blue eyes, taking him back for an odd moment. Regaining his composure, Dean continued. "He's a real brainiac, that one. _LOVES_ the library and everything in it. Has a thing for librarians, you know, especially the smart ones. "

At this, the woman smiled, revealing stubby teeth that were surprisingly white. "Really? Do you think…will he come talk to me?" The voice was soft and innocent and Dean surmised she'd never been touched by a man in her life.

Perfect.

He took a few steps closer to the counter, knowing that he'd hooked his prey, simply needing to reel her in. "He's _very_ shy. Loves his books and all. Perfect 4.0 student at _Stanford_," Dean revealed with a touch of pride, leaning even closer to the librarian, lowering his voice for only her. "Sam doesn't date much but I'm sure if _you_ approached _him_…"

"Sam…" she said dreamily, clearly not listening to Dean anymore now that she had her beloved's name.

The woman carefully placed a bookmark in her novel and pulled herself from her chair. She straightened out her fuchsia, cotton top, pulling it down a little to expose some of her minimal cleavage and brushed her hands over her crinkled skirt. Her purse was perched next to her at the desk – bright red filled with buttons about peace and love – as she quickly pulled out some binaca, depressing the nozzle several times to get her breath nice and fresh for her love.

"Thanks! I'll take it from here," she stated matter-of-factly to Dean as she marched off with a strange gait in the direction of his brother.

Laughter erupted from his belly but Dean suppressed it so as not to give any clues to his brother. The crow's feet along Dean's eyes deepened as he thought of his brother squirming to get out of this one. He knew that Sam would be stunned at the forward advance of the woman, would be overly kind to her, giving her some story about not being able to date, yada yada yada, and would eventually send her on her way. But not before Dean got a few pictures for memory's sake (and the website he discovered where you upload pictures and make the people talk like cut out characters) to be used as bargaining chips later.

He made his way parallel to the action, positioning himself quietly in the rust colored stacks of the library. He only needed a few snapshots from a few angles and then he'd be on his way to the local java joint, completely inaccessible to Sam's cries for help.

If only Dean had seen the book lying on the faux marble countertop being read by the seemingly meek woman: _The Ancient Book of Love Spells, Hexes, Voodoo and Evil Curses by the Black Arts Witch of Africa, Shozola DoraStar, _before he walked away.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The research was going nowhere and Sam knew it. This whole thing was a diversionary tactic cooked up by Bobby to keep him away from Lilith, probably at Dean's request. But things had been strained between him and Dean since his brother's return from down under, and even more so since the dockside confession in Washington. Sam knew this was Dean's way of trying to bridge that gap, knowing that part of Sam was being eaten alive with guilt at the suffering he went through. Sam waffled back and forth between wanting to hug him or strangle him. But he figured that Ruby was still hot on Lilith's trail so he obliged and took this side job for the sake of their family. Trying to pull that bond back together again before it was irreparably shattered.

He slammed the latest text shut causing little puffs of dust to twirl around as he exhaled a deep sigh. Sam pulled his fingers through his chestnut hair wondering what he should do next, knowing that this was going nowhere.

"Anything I can help with? I know all about these tomes," the quiet feminine voice asked, surprising Sam as she approached him cautiously. "If you're looking for more Chinese mythology there's a great volume on the back wall in the oversized section. I can show you if you want."

As she continued to talk, shortening the distance between them, Sam watched her, furrowing his brow at the odd invitation. Normally, librarians seemed a bit freaked by their requests to look at ancient books on demonology and myths, running in terror the other way. But this one seemed genuinely interested from the get go, providing all the information they'd needed and then some.

"Actually, I think I'm going to take a break. My head is spinning and it seems my Chinese _Rosetta Stone_ training is failing me," Sam added, leaning back in the wooden chair smiling uneasily as the woman continued forward in slow and determined steps. He took in her small frame and curious apparel, knowing that he'd met a hundred people like her along their travels: those who thought they understood the occult and monsters.

She suppressed a giggle at Sam's non-joke and continued on her path, her hair swishing from side to side. He watched as she fondled a stray piece, eventually pulling it behind her ear. That's when he realized what was happening.

_Dean!_

"I actually know some Chinese. I could help, you know, if you wanted it." She shuffled her feet, now seemingly uncomfortable as she was only steps away, eyes to the floor.

That's when he noticed the movement from the left, behind the library stacks and Sam saw his brother dash off, holding something in his hands. _Great. Now he has pictures_.

"I'm sorry…"

"Wendy."

"…Wendy. I don't know what my brother told you, but I'm not…"

"Oh! That's your _brother_. Well that makes this _much_ more interesting then." Her whole demeanor seemed to change at the familial information, straightening up and looking more alert. A new confidence building with each step she took. "See, he told me that you had a thing for me, well, for _librarians_, and that I should come over here and ask you out."

Sam shook his head in disgust at his brother. Not only was he screwing with a nice girl, he was trying to pimp him out – again.

"I'm really sorry. Whatever he said…"

"Is irrelevant now that he's gone. He gave me exactly what I wanted." Her face was suddenly in Sam's, hot breath whispering with the smell of ginseng and licorice. "And now that we're alone at last, we have some things to talk about. I want to learn _all_ about you."

Sam pulled back on years of instinct alone, head spinning in wisps of confusion as she continued her approach, circling around him. This had gone from bad to worse in an instant; the scent of her breath bringing awareness of something tainted. He tried to grasp at fleeting thoughts as fog crammed into his head like mist rolling in over an early morning harbor. His head could no longer form coherent or rational notions. Clearly this was no ordinary librarian but the more he fought it, the closer she got to him.

"Tell me, _Sam_, what do you want?" she asked, now finding her way to his lap, sitting sideways, toes barely reaching the ground as she'd found her new seat. "I mean, what will make you happy?" Her fingers twirled through his hair finding their way along his tight neck and eventually palming his muscular chest.

He tried to pull away but found it useless as she made herself comfortable. What was worse, he struggled against really answering her question but as the lies formed in his head, they played hide and seek in the clouds, melting away to the only answer that burned constantly in his mind.

"Lilith…dead." _Why am I answering her? What has she done…_

She placed her cold, dry lips over Sam's and began to kiss him, deeply. Her poison leaked from her breath into his soul; his body tensing and fighting the intrusion. The feel of her was surrounding him, suffocating his being. Sam closed his eyes to try and resist her.

"Not in your head, silly," Wendy laughed, pulling back and releasing her hold on his locks, walking her fingers down his chest. "What's in your _heart_?" she asked, pausing directly above it, causing Sam to open his confused eyes in response. The small tendrils of pressure were released momentarily and then her whole hand slammed against Sam.

A jolt of power coursed through him as she made contact, forcing Sam's head backwards unable to scream, trying to escape the pain. His vision grayed as he fought for awareness, sanity. Her question echoed through his head, bouncing off the corners of his mind:

_What's in your heart?_

_What's in your heart?_

_What's in your… heart?_

Churning thoughts plowed through, slowly erasing the smoke in his mind. His life flashed before him, finding the few happy moments that stuck out: Dean patting him on the head after playing catch, Dean beaming at his performance in _Our Town_, Dean teaching him to drive…

The first time he saw Jessica in English Lit, Jess smiling as they shared a cup of coffee as they studied in the library, Jess kissing him for the first time, Jess nuzzled up next to him wrapped in his arms, the feel of Jess as they made love, her smile, her touch, her love…

Sam's breath hitched as he absorbed the flow of memories; true and wonderful but painful. His world revolved around Jess for those years at Stanford. She'd made him feel real, loved. Normal. Even when he knew it was a lie, she was there. She loved him, he loved her. She was going to be his wife.

His mind slowed the assault as the picture of Jess faded away, a tear slowly making its way down his tense cheek. He inhaled at the pain her memories brought to him; the guilt at not being able to save her. The love he held in his heart for her, unrelenting. He felt the sting of the loss penetrating his soul all over again, tearing back the wound that never healed. Sam dropped his head in shame as failure came at him full-force again.

A finger caught the tear making a trail down his face, followed by a soft palm resting gently against it. Sam struggled to open his eyes, fog finally dissipating as he regained focus. He blinked several times at the vision before him, heart dropping to the floor at the woman staring back at him.

"J-Jess?"

The blonde sitting contentedly on his lap smiled broadly, strands of her silky, curled hair falling softly across her perfect face. The striking blue of her eyes consumed him and he grabbed her face with both hands, rekindling the love they shared all those years ago.

Sam pulled back from his kiss, looking at her with awe. "Is it… really you? How can it…" Sam cried, gently caressing her face with the back of his hand, feeling the soft touch of her skin. He felt the sharp pangs of guilt stab his heart and his hand dropped like a lead balloon to his thigh. He tore his eyes away from her, face filled with disgust. "How can you…stand to be near me?"

He watched as her face scrunched in question as if she didn't know what he'd done to her.

"Oh, Baby. I always want to be with you. That's why I'm here," she answered in the sing song of her beautiful voice, wanting with every fiber of his being for this to be the truth.

"But…I let you die. It's all my fault. I knew..." Tears welled in his eyes and waterfalled down his face as Sam was caught in the moment of realization all over again.

"Shhh, Baby. It's okay," Wendy soothed, lightly stroking his cheek, wiping up the tears. "Let's get out of here so we can talk. Alone. Does that sound alright?"

Sam looked up and saw perfection in his arms smiling back at him. "How could I say no to you?"

-o-o-o-o-o

Dean sipped his coffee – black – at the _Jumpin' Java Coffee Café_ (apparently they liked alliteration) carefully checking his watch. It'd been twenty minutes since he'd left his brother in the "arms" of the librarian. Watching Sam pre-squirm to get out of her advances had made his day. Getting pictures of it – priceless! And the website? The razzing that would continue for months was worth it, especially after Sam saw him in the stacks and knew what he'd been up to. A smile broke out across his face; maybe it would help cut the tension between them since things had spun so out of control lately. A return to the Prank Wars was definitely in the game plan.

He finished up his cup, noting it was 3:25. He'd let Sam struggle for long enough; now it was time to swoop in and be the hero. Maybe Sam had found the answer to this hunt in those tomes. If not, they'd have a night to laugh about the day's events and have a few beers. Sometimes that was the best way to handle everything.

Dean hadn't wanted to confess about Hell to Sam but after Uriel had ratted him out, Sam had been a dog with a bone and wouldn't let up. At this point, it was easier to tell him and deal with the consequences of Sam's brooding. He knew the kid wanted to help, but there _was_ no help, no way to describe what had happened down there. No way to convince Sam there was nothing to be done. He'd hoped that this would be the end of the discussion.

So, a return to the simpler ways seemed the best way to get past this which is why Dean brewed up the plan in the first place. Sam would be pissed, but he'd also be distracted and that was a win win in his column.

Committing to his decision, Dean rose and dumped the cup unceremoniously into the garbage, taking a leisurely stroll back to the library a few blocks down. The wind had picked up a little and there was a slight chill to the air. Strange for these summer months down south. But the apocalypse was coming, so who knew what bizarre weather patterns would arise.

The squat brick building came into view with Oakdale Community Library in art deco lettering of silver and black about half way up the side. Dean crossed over the lawn that clearly said "Do Not Walk on Grass" and made his way into the front entrance.

He'd left Sam in the basement stacks area so he trotted down the painted cement steps towards his brother. There was no telling what Dean would find when he finally pulled Sasquatch from the depths of despair like the damsel he was. A smirk ran across his face at the librarian trying with all her might to talk with Sam and his brother just squirming. Dean already had the evidence so the payoff would continue in droves.

The doors from the stairwell opened with a whoosh as the floor was mostly deserted. He saw a few kids hanging out in the anatomy section, giggling at the pictures of the human body. They quickly pushed the book away as they saw Dean approaching them. He nodded with a mischievous smile and kept walking, making his way down the brown corridor towards the special section. Sam had already taken several pages of notes on his yellow legal pad before Dean left and was buried in a pile of books ranging several subjects because they just weren't sure what this thing was.

Dean rounded the corner slowly, waiting to see whether Sam had been able to ditch the girl or not but what he found was that same pile of books and no Sam. He furrowed his brow and stepped around the corner, twisting his neck from side to side wondering where Gigantor had gotten to. He continued towards the table to find the yellow notepad with Sam's scribbles very prominently left on the counter.

"Sam?"

No answer. And Dean wondered if Sam was playing his own joke.

But why would Sam leave the notes out for anyone to find? Sam wasn't sloppy and would never purposely allow someone else to stumble onto his research…

That could only mean that something had happened.

Trying to quell the panic that started to rise from his gut, Dean rushed back to the front desk to find Sam's "date" gone as well. He looked around, spotting an older woman with light gray hair gently shelving books to his right.

"Excuse me, ma'am? Do you know where the young lady is that was sitting here?" Dean asked, trying not to be too loud, incurring the wrath of any other librarian within earshot.

"Oh, Wendy? Goodness, I haven't seen her in about half an hour when I checked in with her at the desk," she replied, walking towards Dean with a slight limp. "She's usually very good about keeping the post."

Changing tactics to gather more information, Dean continued. "Did you happen to see the young man that was sitting in the special stacks earlier? I think maybe she went to speak with him."

"Oh, the tall boy? Yes, Wendy did mention him," she added, thinking something good would come of it. "Maybe they hit it off? She's such a sweet girl. Perhaps they went to have a bite to eat?" The woman's smile faded as she sensed the worry in Dean's eyes. "Although, she would have said something to me…."

Dean wanted to be angry, and maybe he still was, but until he could place all the pieces together, worry had taken the front seat.

"Um, thanks."

The woman offered a polite smile in return as she headed back the way she came, book in hand, job on her mind.

Dean did another quick around, getting ready to leave when he noticed a book at the desk where Wendy had been sitting. It didn't take him long to get a glimpse of the cover.

_The Ancient Book of Love Spells, Hexes, Voodoo and Evil Curses…_

"Witches! I _hate_ witches! Haven't we had enough of those skanks in the last few weeks?" Dean pulled his hand down his face, popping behind the desk, checking out the area for any other clues. "No wonder she was looking at him like a piece of meat. Damn it!"

Obviously Wendy had taken her purse but Dean was looking for anything else she might have left behind to tell him where his brother might be. Tooling around the area, he found a schedule with the names of the workers and their shifts.

WENDY YOUNG – Tuesday 10-6

Well, that would help a bit and it certainly meant that she'd bailed on her shift. Now he'd have to figure out where she lived and what she had in store for Sam. Grabbing the spell book and cramming it into his jacket, he walked back to the older librarian to see if he could gather any more information.

"Excuse me, ma'am? I'm sorry to keep bothering you," Dean said, putting his best charms forward. "I'm wondering if you can tell me where Wendy likes to hang out. Maybe she and my brother are there. See, Sam has diabetes and his insulin shots are in my car. If he left without them, well, I'm not really sure what'll happen…"

"Oh dear!" she cried, switching to motherly mode, putting her current book down. "I really don't know. She lives quite a ways from here in Park Forest so I don't think she'd have anywhere local to go. Maybe the coffee house down the road?"

Now he had a name and city; he just had to figure out where she might have taken his brother.

-o-o-o-o

She couldn't believe her luck.

The minute Sam had walked in the door of the library, the perimeter spells she'd cast had sprung into action. Not only was he extremely handsome and a great kisser, he had on over-the-top guilt factor built in. Then once she'd learned that Jess had died, Wendy had carefully fed lines to Sam to figure out why he believed that he'd caused her untimely death.

What she'd learned astounded her.

It seemed that Sam had years of pent up guilt regarding his girlfriend's death because a demon had come to claim _him_, killing Jess instead. After given the opportunity to talk about it, he leaked like a sieve with information.

This was no ordinary boy.

Under normal circumstances, she'd have thought that Sam Winchester was insane, although she hadn't ruled that out yet, but since the potion removed any chances of deception, she knew that she'd hit pay dirt. He was exactly what she was looking for.

Guilt on a stick.

There were still some things that were buried deep about this enigma of a man, but sooner or later he'd spill – literally.

-o-o-o-o-o

Dean quickly found Wendy's home address; a twenty-five mile drive from the library. Typically, not a huge distance but when one little brother was missing – especially in light of everything that'd been going on as of late – it was too long of a distance. And chances were that they wouldn't even be there. Dean just hoped there would be some clue where to find them.

He'd made the drive in twenty minutes which was rather impressive seeing as the speed limit was 35 most of the way. The badge was always there as a back up in emergencies, and this definitely constituted an emergency.

Pulling in front of the white with brown trim ranch-style home, he glanced again at the address, 226 Hawthorne Blvd, hovering out the window of the Impala. The driveway held a few spots where oil had leaked from whatever car sat there and the bushes around the yard were unkempt and dying. There was a small herb garden just under the picture window where it would get the perfect amount of sun. Even from this distance, Dean was relatively sure that there were some pretty funky herbs growing in there for a "typical" librarian.

It was definitely the right house. The bad thing: no visible signs of Sam.

Dean made quick work of scoping the surrounding area for nosey neighbors in a drive by. He assumed that in a neighborhood like this, most of the crowd was still working. He'd found a spot to stash the Impala that was relatively inconspicuous, grabbed the fake badge, pick set, his Glock and a few sundry items and high-tailed it back to the house to look for clues.

The gate to the back yard seemed the easiest bet as he quietly slithered through the door, shutting it with a soft click. The entire yard was fenced in which left very little room for neighbors to know what was up. More herbs were scattered about the yard, some in circular patterns or growing in secluded areas. Symbolism that he'd seen many times with black magic littered the yard, forming worship areas and sacred spots. She'd definitely done her homework on the apothecary and effigies.

The back door was connected to a rotting porch, sliding to allow entry. Dean checked for anything that would indicate an alarm and moved forward with his B&E, pushing the handle up quickly and gaining entrance to the witch's home.

Books were scattered everywhere and a strange odor of licorice and something he couldn't put his fingers on permeated the walls. Her furniture was as mismatched as she was; a garage sale of knickknacks and household goods. He made his way to her bookshelf to read the contents:

_Ancient Spells of the Gods_

_Binding Rituals in the World of Black Magic_

_Hoodoo_

Definitely stuff that Bobby would be interested in adding to his own collection if for no other reason than to be able to fight future witch attacks.

Dean continued his way through the house, stopping to look at pictures of assumed family members, friends and cherished pets. The mantle was relatively bare of frames but the few that were there were probably her parents as the faces were older and the photographs yellowed with time.

There was one picture of Wendy dressed to the nines with a young boy. Probably prom. He was average looking with a goofy smile, donning a suit that was clearly too big for him. His arm was wrapped tightly around Wendy's shoulder, squishing the boutonniere she'd purchased for him. As Dean stepped closer to the mantel, he noticed a small, black ribbon wrapped at the corner of the frame. He touched the fabric and the frame moved slightly, revealing a dried flower behind the picture that looked suspiciously like the rose he'd worn on his lapel.

Continuing around the house, there was a photo album of clippings not far from the ledge. Opening the book, he learned that the young man's name was Stan Billings. Flipping through the articles, it seemed that Stan was on his way to Princeton with a full-ride as class Valedictorian until a drunk driver had killed him shortly after prom in 2005. The community had been devastated.

And by the look of it, so had Wendy. She had her own personal shrine to the boy.

But that didn't explain why she took Sam…

He continued to case the house, finding a door to the basement. While going down there with no backup did not seem like a very good option, Dean had no idea what was going on with his brother. If the basement held the answers, he'd make his way down.

The finished space was quite neat and tidy compared to the rest of the home. He cautiously pulled his Glock from the back of his jeans, holding it at the ready. Dean tip-toed through the basement, finding the room much smaller than he'd imagined. Near what appeared to be the front of the house, there was a wooden door that looked like some kind of pantry. Raising his gun higher, he mentally counted to three and swung the room open to find a small alter with burning black candles and that smell of licorice again. Looking around, Dean found a small picture of Stan and some pieces of hair. The rest of the items he could not identify and really didn't want to know. A tiny cauldron of sorts bubbled merrily, emitting a putrid odor of dirt and burning flesh – both smells he was uncomfortably familiar with. To the side, an even larger cauldron stood, obviously waiting for some ingredient to get it going. A shiver ran down Dean's spine, wondering what that could be.

Gathering what information he could from the set up, he turned to exit the room, stopping at the wall behind him. He approached the paper taped to it, chicken scratching all over the page with arrows and pictures every which way. It was obviously some kind of spell. Looking at the rest of the sheet, Dean's face blanching at the final ingredient.

"Oh God…"

-o-o-o-o

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

First off, the episode title is _Wishful Thinking_. Jeez! Sorry!

Second, thanks for all the reviews, alerts and guesses. Very cool!

Third, I don't own anything, I think there's some swearing and some generally bad writing because I didn't have a beta. I don't recommend that to anyone. Ever.

Fourth, thank you thank you to Gem and TraSan. You guys are really just amazing!

Sorry for any mistakes, obnoxious errors, horrible medical facts and general bad storytelling. I tried to wrap up all my loose ends (because I hate when that doesn't happen) so if I did miss something, it was purely by accident. I also tried to shift this into "I Know What you did Last Summer" so there are some mild ties to that as well.

Ugh, here goes! Thanks for sticking with me!

:D

Caroline

-o-o-o-o

Her family's cabin had always been a retreat of sorts. The Young's would journey there several times a year, bringing friends of the family, having bonfires and roasting marshmallows in the back, telling spooky ghost stories that Wendy never believed. Her father laughed as he tried to scare the girls but it never worked. They knew better.

This place always held a certain fondness for Wendy, even after her father died. Her mother would accompany her every once in a while, but she longed for the days with her husband and soon declined the invitations, allowing Wendy to bring her own friends, as long as she promised to behave.

This is where Stan had first kissed her, where he'd promised that once they'd finished high school, they would find a way to be together. There was no way she could get into Princeton, but they researched possible schools in the area that she could attend, settling on a few.

Then, Stan was ripped from her and for the first time, she really felt her mother's pain at the loss of her love.

But now, she'd found a way around that. She'd found a way to bring Stan back so they could be together, forever.

For the past few years, she'd studied up on Wiccan, hoping to find the answer to her broken heart through the spiritual enlightenment the practice taught. As she dug deeper, finding more and more things in the tomes of the library vault, she'd learned that black magic was the only way to get what she wanted. It took several months, but she finally found the perfect spell and now she had the means to make it work.

Sam was resting comfortably on the sofa, enormous legs awkwardly splayed across the cushions. He seemed to like it, so it was fine with her. She'd learned so much about him on their ride to the cabin. Wendy actually found herself feeling a little sorry for him, connecting with his deep pangs of loss for Jessica; the same that she had for her beloved. After the verbal catharsis from Sam, Wendy knew that whatever she needed, he'd willingly give to her. No questions asked.

She walked over to the sofa, kneeling next to Sam, brushing his cheek to rouse him. He blinked up at her and smiled, lunging for her lips with a passion she'd never known with Stan; it had been ripped away too soon. She returned the kiss, continuing to strengthen the spell she'd placed on the man before her.

Sam suddenly pulled back from her, dazed but happy. "Tell me again how you managed it? How are you back here with me?" She felt a strand of her hair pushed behind her ear as he looked lovingly at her.

"I told you, Sam. It was the angels. They knew that if I came back, you'd stay away from Ruby and stop your pursuit of Lilith. That's it. I mean, they were able to pull Dean from Hell, right? Why not do the same for me, in Heaven?" She watched as the logic of the argument seemed to settle Sam's curiosity a bit. "There was no way I could say no to being with you, especially with all the guilt you've harbored all these years." Wendy pulled herself to the edge of the couch near Sam's torso, placing her hand on his shoulder. "I love you too much to watch you continue to suffer."

Sam shook his head, still arguing the facts on the table, channeling his later Stanford days. "But after everything that's happened, everything that I've done, why would they reward me? I just don't understand."

Wendy started to panic a little, not really knowing everything that was going on. Sure, she got the gist of it – demon blood, The Deal, brother in Hell, the impending Apocalypse - but she wasn't really caught up in all the details. All she knew was that Sam had visions of his girlfriend dying beforehand and that major piece of guilt was going to get her what she wanted. If she needed to throw some Dean guilt in there as well, she would.

Putting all the chips on the table, Wendy quickly realized that she'd probably stumbled into something a little beyond her abilities. But Sam was her chance at bringing Stan back, and damn it, she was going to make this work.

"You're a good person, Sam, no matter what you may believe. Or what you think the angels or even the demons believe. And what happened to Dean was not your fault. It was _his_ decision to make the Deal." She stopped her monologue to emphasize her love for him with another booster shot of the potion, concentrating heavily on clouding his mind. She pulled back, keeping a bit of Sam's lower lip in her teeth, releasing with a ping. "You've been through so much and you deserve a little happiness. Don't you think you deserve to be happy? Can't _we_ be happy, _together_?"

She carded her fingers through Sam's hair, alarmed at the feeling of a new dampness. If he was fevered, it meant his body was trying to fight the infection of her spell. That meant she was running out of time.

"I don't know what to believe anymore, Jess. I just know that I'm so happy that you're here. That you're okay. That's all the really matters."

Wendy felt herself pulled into the strength of his massive arms, amazed at how gentle and kind he was. A strange giddiness enveloped her from the attention of such a man, glad she'd added a little extra punch into that last kiss. But she knew it was now or never.

"Baby, can you do me a favor?" Wendy asked, nuzzling herself into Sam's neck and draping her thin arm around him, stroking the back of his head.

"Anything."

She kissed his neck, breathing out more of the spell and whispering the incantation softly into his ear.

"Follow me…"

-o-o-o-o-o-o

"Shit!" Dean screamed, grabbing the paper down from the wall. "Shit!" This was bad; this was really bad.

Wendy the Witch wasn't the innocent from the _Caspar_ cartoons; she was bat-crazy. She couldn't do the simple raising the zombies from the dead, routine. No, she had to find a blood spell – _the blood of a willing lover_. The blood of someone so nuts for her that they'd give their own lives to make her happy.

"Shit!" Dean added for emphasis, kicking at the stray pair of flowered boots on her floor.

He hit speed dial, hoping that he'd get lucky and Sam would answer, saying this was all one big joke, but like the fifty times before, it went straight to voice mail. Dean hung up and tried the next number down.

"Singer."

"Bobby, I figured it out. It's a blood spell…"

-o-o-o-o-

Sam sat on the hard wooden chair like a five-year-old boy waiting to be told what to do next. He didn't exactly remember how he'd gotten here but since he was seated, he rested his arms on the arms, looking at Jess as she busied herself around the room. She was always busy.

God he loved that about her.

He watched the ebbs and flows of her figure as she walked around, gathering a bowl and some silverware, probably getting ready to make cookies again. She made the _best_ cookies. She bent so he could see her backside and he flourished with love, waiting to take her in his arms again and let her know how much he loved her.

But she'd asked him to stay right where he was; she had a surprise for him. And when it came to anything Jessica, he loved her surprises.

Sam reached to paw through his hair sleepily, feeling a complicated haze about him that wasn't there earlier. Like being drunk, only he hadn't remembered drinking. He drew his eyebrows together at that thought, wondering why he was feeling the way he was when Jess appeared in his line of vision again.

"Hi!" she said playfully, leaning in to kiss him with her soft, plump lips colored in that shade of pink that only belonged to her. "Miss me?"

His arms wrapped instantly around her tiny frame, squeezing with just enough pressure to let her know how much he did miss her. "Do you need to ask?"

She laughed and he watched her smile as it seemed to brighten the room, warming his skin and filling his heart with overwhelming emotion.

"Are you ready for your surprise?"

-o-o-o-

Dean was now in a state of panic. The spell required blood – a _lot_ of blood – in order to raise the lover from his grave. And the longer the person had been dead, the more blood it took.

This was not good.

Bobby started a background check on the family to see if they owned property anywhere else in the area while Dean continued to search the house. He ran back upstairs looking in the rooms adjacent to the living room, assuming there was a bedroom of sorts somewhere nearby. He opened the lime green door and unveiled what he assumed was Wendy's bedroom. While it was not girly in the least, there were telltale signs that it belonged to her: multi-colored skirts, rumpled clothing on the floor, flat shoes and….

Rrrrawwrrr…

A _white_ cat?

"I thought witches owned _black_ cats. You're out of place." Dean reached to grab the cat when it scurried from his grasp and up the back of her bed, knocking over one of the few pictures on her headboard. He picked up the frame from the comforter and there, before him, was the small family of three perched in front of the campground entrance to Lake Earn.

"Bingo! Thanks, kitty!"

Dean pulled his phone out and dialed Bobby.

-o-o-o-o-o

Wendy sat once again on Sam's lap, relishing this truly incredible moment. When she'd started researching this spell, she never actually figured she'd be able to do it. In order for the black magic portion to work, the person had to be head-over-heels in love with her. The problem was if that person was really in love, and she'd found a true lover, would she be able to actually kill him in order to bring Stan back?

Then she'd discovered this love potion spell, and her plan came together.

While she did genuinely find Sam attractive and interesting, having many of the same traits as her beloved Stan, she knew they would never work out. Plus, she had bewitched him into thinking she was Jessica, adding a layer of unease to their already unhealthy relationship.

This way worked _much_ better.

She pulled the knife from the bowl beside her and showed it to Sam. Using the information she'd ascertained from Sam about the demon blood and playing on his fear of the angel's wrath, along with the guilt of losing his girlfriend and sending his brother to Hell, she figured her plan couldn't fail.

"Sam. The angels, they came…and talked to me," Wendy said with a sadness in her eyes and a dark timbre in her voice. She had to turn her head from him, escaping the emotion now exuding from his eyes at the sudden change in her demeanor.

"Did they threaten you? What happened?" Sam grabbed her shoulder and squeezed, encouraging her to continue.

"They said…they said that this blood in you…it's evil..." Wendy started to cry to the best of her acting ability, gently pulling her tiny frame up and down for added affect. She knew he was watching her every move. "They want you to…"

"What? What do they want me to do, Jess?"

"You need to get rid of it. You need to prove to them that…the good part of you still exists. They want you to prove that you love me by wanting to cleanse your blood." Wendy threw herself into Sam's chest, breathing out deeply and forcefully, surrounding the air with one last dose of her poison. "They can make you better, and we can be together. But only…only if you do this, for me. For _us_!"

After a few moments, she pulled back, watching Sam's face go through every emotion known to man. Wendy didn't think that so much could be said in a facial expression until she watched it happen before her. She saw sorrow, grief, guilt, happiness, doubt, anger and finally conviction.

Wendy felt the brush of his palm against her cheek, twisting to the back of his hand as it made its way down her neck to just above her heart. He paused, watching the up and down flow of her chest taking in the life that he'd seen slip away from him. She could read the awe in his face as he saw Jessica before him.

The knife was gently removed from Wendy's hand and he raised it, studying the qualities of the blade like a jeweler scoping a diamond.

"For us!"

And Sam sliced the knife through the first layers of skin on his arm, watching the blood drip silently to the floor.

-o-o-o-o-o

"It's not too far, Dean. You can probably get there in twenty minutes if you hurry."

Bobby'd confirmed what Dean had found; a small cabin on a lake owned by the family for years. It made perfect sense that Wendy would go where she was comfortable and free. And alone. There was probably a second altar set up at the cabin but Dean didn't want to take any chances that the two were linked, smashing the contents and candles in the basement and booking out the door.

The directions to the cabin were straightforward, but the fear of losing Sam and not getting there in time was overwhelming, pressing him to drive even faster.

They'd been through some pretty rough times the last weeks, the scariest of which was watching Sam exorcise Samhain with his mind. It had taken a lot of out Sam, giving him a killer headache and an instant nosebleed, but it took even more out of Dean knowing how Sam was tempting the angels to strike him down. Sam swore that was all he could do was destroy the demons, but his brother had gotten pretty good at lying to him and that worried Dean more than he'd let on.

So, it had to stop. He needed to get through to Sam, but first he had to find him.

The ride took forever, especially with Dean's guilt swirling through his mind at the initial set up in the first place. How could he have known that a homicidal witch was after her next victim, and he handed him to her on a silver platter?

_Winchester luck, that's how I should have known…_

-o-o-o-

Sam watched with absolute joy for several minutes at the smile on Jessica's face. He'd forgotten how incredibly beautiful she was, how the sun hit her skin and made it glow. How her kiss made all the nightmares fade away.

He remembered coming home that night after Dean had dropped him back at the apartment, promising to stay in touch, seeing the plate piled with warm cookies. Sam remembered grabbing a few and shoving them into his mouth, padding upstairs to see the love of his life, calling her name as he climbed higher. Then he heard the pitter-patter of the shower, knowing what awaited him when she came out and the comfort of being home. Having an actual home.

But the drop of blood hit him squarely in the face and he looked up to see Jessica pinned to the ceiling, gut slashed open. All the nightmares came true. He should have prevented it. He could have prevented it, but he didn't want to believe it was true – couldn't believe that he was a freak and had seen the future. The horrible, terrifying future as his life went up in flames. Again.

Jessica never deserved to die; she deserved so much more. Her life was cut short because of him and his lies. Because he couldn't admit who he really was…

Now, he'd made her happy and they could be together again. He was so worried how she would react to the truth, but she had been amazingly calm and unwavering about the demon blood and what was going on with the angels. _I should have told her all along. She would have accepted me for who I was. Maybe she could have saved me…_

It didn't matter now. This simple answer would save them all. If the angels were finally on his side and this is what they wanted to get him back in God's graces, so be it.

After finally meeting Castiel, and ultimately, Uriel, Sam was overwhelmed by them, having prayed to God and his angels all his life. It's not that he'd expected fluffy feathers and halos. He knew the lore; knew that they were fierce warriors of God. But what they presented wasn't anything like he'd imagined; he was quickly dismayed at how unjust they were. Cas wouldn't even shake his hand, calling him "the boy with the demon blood."

Dean was right, they were dicks.

So then, why would they suddenly agree to give him Jessica back and help him with the demon blood when they wouldn't even touch him a few weeks ago? What could have happened in that period of time to make everything better? Was this a residual wish that he'd made at the wishing well without realizing it?

Something was definitely not right.

"Jess?"

A pause. "Yes, Sam."

"Why am I doing this again?" Sam asked, trying to be forceful and steady but the words came out surprisingly slurred and sloppy.

"Because you love me. Because the angels said so."

Sam pondered the answer for a moment, fighting for clarity in his mind. He'd just been through the mental checklist of why this was so wonderful before realizing that the angels didn't give a damn about him. He took a shallow breath and started to work this out. "But the angels…are dicks. Why did they…change their mind and decide to help me when they were just threatening me…" The more Sam tried to think about it, the more he knew that this was not how it was supposed to be and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

His throat was dry, swallowing to assuage the desert forming there. As his body jerked, he felt a strange pull on his arm. Looking down, he was surprised to see his blood running like a stream down his skin. When did that happen? Had this been part of the plan of his purification via angel grace? He couldn't remember… For the first time, he noticed the crimson seemed to be dripping into an ornate chalice at the base of his chair. Sam shook his head and looked again to see the alarming rate which it was filling.

Jess came into his view, all smiles and beauty, running a palm down the side of his face. "Because they know that deep down, you're a good person and this is the way to make everything alright," she said, her head nodding up and down.

Her words were convincing; at least, he wanted to believe them. Was there really salvation for him? Could this be the answer to his years of prayer?

But he was a Winchester and deep in his gut, he knew this was wrong.

Sam tried to rise, needing to stand and clear his head, but he found that he was actually tied down to the chair. The rope was amateur at best and in normal circumstances, he could have broken free in no time but he pulled uselessly at it with his whole body, jerking unsteadily in the seat.

"Jess? Why is there a rope around my waist?"

"So you don't hurt yourself, Baby. I can't have you falling off the chair as we get through the final stages for the angels, can I?" Jessica flashed a smile at Sam who was becoming wearier with fatigue and confusion every moment.

Sam looked down his arm again and a pang of fear sliced through him, wondering what would happen to Dean if this scenario came to pass. "I…I don't think this is right, Jess. I think this is a trick," Sam answered, now struggling a bit more to release himself from the chair. He watched as the blonde came to him, reaching for his hair to comb it back. Her touch felt different this time. "I think we should….call Dean and tell him what happened."

"You do have lovely locks, Sam. And maybe, if things were different, I'd want to get to know you better." She fisted Sam's hair tightly, yanking his head upwards revealing her true face through his glazed eyesight. "But I need your blood to bring back _my_ true love. Sorry about Jess," she added with a shrug. "I guess you can die knowing that _one_ of us got what we wanted."

Sam felt his head released from the grasp and looked at the woman before him, confused and disjointed at the turn of events.

"Who are you? What…are you doing?" Speech was becoming more difficult as his motor skills seemed to put the brakes on.

"I need the blood of someone who loves me more than life, so I can bring back my _own_ love. And you are giving it to me, drip by drip." Sam felt his arm raised as she inspected the wound, showing it briefly to Sam then dropping it. "By the looks of it, I only need another pint or two and I'm all set." The woman's face was in his and he suddenly remembered who she was.

"The library… you were, helping me." Sam's vision grayed for a moment before pulling himself back to the moment. "Don't… do this. He won't…be… the same."

The woman smiled as she sat again on Sam's lap, making herself comfortable for the finale. "Oh, I know all about zombies and love slaves. I've done a _lot_ of research. It's kinda what I do," she added with a giggle, leaning over to see the chalice continuing to fill. "This is a combination of spells from two different practices. The love spell is really pretty harmless but I ratcheted it up a notch or so. The black magic part? Yeah, that's a little trickier, but I'm pretty confident."

"But I don't… love you," Sam squeezed out between breaths, finding consciousness more of challenge.

"No, but when I started the drip you did, and there will be enough pheromones in there to get me what I need," she countered, getting up from Sam's lap to busy herself with some other task. He tried to grab at her but she laughed as she continued to walk away. "You don't have the strength, Sam. I'd give it a rest."

Sam knew he was running out of time and if he didn't stop the blood flow, he'd soon pass out. He pulled his good arm and tried to release himself from the rope tied about his waist.

There was no way that she would have the muscle to truly make it tight, now that he saw her true form. If he could just loosen it enough to get up, he might be about to knock her out, stop the bleeding and call Dean, preferably in that order.

Long fingers traced the origins of the rope, finding the knot a little further in his back. He dug his stubby fingernails into the knot, feeling for some kind of give. The twine poked at him but his sense of pain was dulling and the insignificant scratches only served to keep his mind thinking. He pushed and pulled, back and forth and finally found a small opening to shove his fingers into. Without making too much noise or too much movement, Sam was able to get a portion of the rope to come free.

The librarian was hovering over a black alter that was adjacent to a cauldron of some sort, clearly engrossed in her spellmaking and not concerned about Sam at all.

_I haven't had enough of witches in the last few weeks!_

Shaking the cluttered thoughts, Sam continued to work at the rope, finally getting the bondage from his torso and dropping it to the floor with a slight thud. He worried that the noise would call her attention back his way but she was in the throes of the spell.

Sam looked around the room trying to find a towel or something that would serve as a tourniquet for his arm. Nothing jumped at him, partly because the room was moving with an awful spin and tilt, colors all turning a lovely shade of gray. For the moment, his palm would have to do.

The pot at his feet was alarmingly full and a rush of bile started up his throat. Sam pulled his gaze away, focusing on his next steps…

_What was I doing…_

Steadying himself, Sam planted his feet and shifted his weight forward as he held his dripping arm to his chest. He took a deep breath, finding his center and pulling himself upward. His eyes swam and closed automatically at the onslaught of fatigue and blood loss. Sam took a gingered step forward, knocking into the nearest table. The woman's blazing eyes shot back at him as she raced to stop him from escaping; grasping the knife he'd used moments earlier to carve his arm.

"Now, Sam, that's not very nice trying to leave our little party. We were just getting to know each other." She pointed the knife at him as he lumbered closer to her.

Sam knew he was screwed. His body was shutting down and his mind was having a hard time comprehending everything going on around him. The fight or flight instinct was still primed and ready, adrenaline probably the only thing still pumping through his veins. He knew he wasn't going down without a fight. Lunging forward with his one good arm, Sam tried to bat the knife away, hoping to knock her down with his weight. Grossly miscalculating, the woman countered Sam, thrusting upwards with the knife and into Sam's ribcage, yanking it out immediately with a sickening slurp.

"Why did you have to do that? Now I have even _more_ of a mess." She tossed the object to the table, turning back to the altar.

Sam fell to a heap on the floor, gasping in short breaths as blood now oozed from his chest as well. He tried to steady his breathing but found that oxygen was not his friend, face planting to the floor with a crash.

-o-o-o-

The cabin was exactly where Bobby'd said it would be, along with a Cutlass Sierra parked out front. Barely stopping the car, Dean grabbed his Glock and raced to the door, busting down the wooden barrier with a swift kick.

Wendy stared back at him, shocked at seeing the man again. Having nothing to defend herself with, she ran from the room, tripping along the way but catching her balance.

Dean started after her when he noticed Sam piled on the floor covered in blood. By the time he looked back up at her, she'd run around the corner and slammed a door. She'd have to wait.

Racing to his brother, he turned Sam over to find a lump on his head that had a small nick in the center. What were more concerning were the shallow breaths and the weak pulse. "Sammy? You there?" Dean tapped lightly on Sam's face, getting no reaction. That's when panic set in.

Examining him further, he found Sam's shirt a mess of wet crimson. Dean wasn't sure where to begin as he unfolded his brother.

"Shit, Sammy…"

His brother's arm was still dripping from the incision made but there was also a wound just above his stomach that Dean feared had hit a lung. Not wanting to leave Sam's side, he gophered the area to see if there was anything of help nearby. Spotting a towel on the back of a chair to the dining room, Dean lowered his brother to the floor as he sprinted to gather the cloth.

Military first aid always came naturally to them, patching each other up with whatever MacGyverisms they could come up with. The arm seemed straight forward enough, but the stomach wound was definitely beyond Dean's ability. Looking past his brother, he saw the rope lying on the floor next to the chair, knowing that Sam had just freed himself. On the other side of the chair was the chalice filled with Sam's blood. Too much blood. As Dean looked back down at Sam, hopelessness started to fill his heart.

Shakily, Dean reached in his pocket to dial 911 knowing that these injuries required professional attention. As he flipped the phone open, he heard sirens in the background getting closer to their location.

The phone vibrated and the screen lit up the name _BOBBY_.

"Did you call them," he barked into the phone at the older hunter, still assessing Sam's situation.

"Just after you left." There was an uncomfortable pause on the other end. "It's bad, isn't it?"

Dean's breath hitched at the question, looking at his brother, seeing the face of an innocent, not the demon-killing bad ass that lay before him. "Yeah. It's bad. How did you know?"

Bobby sighed at the question, obviously hoping he'd been wrong. "I did a little research on this ritual and I figured by the time you got to Sam, it might be…Well, let's just say I wanted to add some insurance to make sure the boy was alright."

Two paramedics pounded through the door immediately heading to Sam to ascertain his situation.

"Thanks, Bobby. I'll call you."

A hand landed on Dean's shoulder and he looked up to the kind eyes of the female paramedic. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Dean looked down at his brother who was way too pale and still for his own comfort; breathing quick and staggered. "I'm… I'm not sure. She…kidnapped him. She's still in the house."

A third presence made itself known as a navy blue uniform entered Dean's vision. Scanning upwards, the policewoman regarded him with a stern nature. Her hands shifted to the butt of her gun, nodding slightly at Dean's information. "I'll check it out." And she ran off.

Concern back to Sam, Dean started to fabricate a lie in his head, realizing that the truth was a better option in this case. "I think she was trying to perform some ritual. She took him and…"

The other paramedic was already attending to Sam's wounds; staunching the flow of the arm quickly with a tourniquet and applying pressure to the stomach. The woman who was speaking with Dean got up and pulled her bag open, getting vitals on Sam.

Dean watched as she checked his blood pressure and heart rate, looking gravely at her partner.

"Kid's 80/50. We gotta get this under control now or we'll lose him," the first medic stated, grey hair cropped short in a buzz cut. The years of experience were clear in the lines on his face.

"Did you see all the blood? I'll start the IV but that's a helluva lot to try and replace with the fluids." The female medic who'd questioned Dean was swabbing Sam's skin and prepping to insert the IV.

Dean watched them work, listening to the grim forecast. "What can I do? Can he have my blood?"

"I lost the pulse. Hold on," the woman said strapping an oxygen mask to Sam's face, getting herself ready for CPR if need be.

"If he's got a bleed in the lung, we'll only make this worse with compressions. Keep on the IV." The orders were obeyed without question as the man took on the oxygen, pulsing into his lungs, hoping for a response while keeping his finger at Sam's neck.

"It's faint but there. We gotta go. Now!"

Dean stood and watched the team put his brother on the gurney, not really believing that they'd lost him; grateful that they hadn't.

This whole thing was supposed to be a joke; a way to make things better between the two of them. Something to laugh at. Something for Sam to get indignant about because of the baiting of the librarian.

It wasn't supposed to end up with him lying on the floor with half his blood sitting in a bowl to be used in a resurrection spell.

"Sir? Are you with me?" The young woman grasped his bicep, grabbing his attention away from his inner thoughts.

"Yeah. Sorry. It's all just sort of, overwhelming," Dean answered honestly. He looked up to see his brother being carted out the door. "Sammy? Where are they taking him?"

"Just relax. He's in good hands," the medic said, words dripping from her lips with ease having said it a hundred times before. "Oakdale has the best local hospital but it's about 45 minutes and we don't think he'd make it. There's a satellite clinic 10 minutes up in Forest Glen. We'll go there and further assess your brother's condition."

Dean nodded, thankful to Bobby's quick thinking. "Can I come with?"

"It's up to you but you might want to bring your car along. I don't expect he'll be at Forest Glen for long and then you'll get stuck."

Radio chatter was heard from behind the kitchen as the officer was calling for some kind of back up. Dean never liked authority figures but he figured the cop could figure this one out on her own. Looking around a final time, Dean pulled himself together and ran to the Impala, weaving through the roads behind the ambulance, keeping up with her pace for pace.

-o-o-o-

Dean was sick with worry. They'd taken Sam to the chop-shop ER over two hours ago. They were supposed to just ready him for transport and ship him to the real hospital, but there'd been "complications." Sam bottomed out and stopped breathing and they'd forced a tube down this throat to counteract the nick in his lung. And being told they didn't have enough O+ blood in their bank didn't help either. Then when Dean watched a new doctor come flying in from outside about an hour in, barely stopping to check in, he knew they were in trouble.

It had been a flurry of activity for the tiny clinic and the more time that passed, the worse he felt about his brother's chances of survival.

Finally, around hour three, the ambulance wheeled itself back into the makeshift dock area, doors opening ready for transport. Dean turned to see a grey door opened by a member of the nursing staff, followed by the top of Sam's head. He was strapped onto the stretcher, IV and blood ports hanging from the rolling pole along with an oxygen machine forcing air into Sam's lungs.

He looked the color of death.

"What now?" Dean asked, following the gurney to the back of the ambulance.

The name on the man's white lab coat said _Dr. Wilson._ The man looked to Dean and tried a smile. "It was a little rough. We're just not equipped to handle an emergency like this here." The doctor pulled the mask from his face, revealing a slight mustache. "We're a small town. Ritualistic torture stuff isn't really our thing."

Dean watched as the gurney was lowered and then raised to get Sam into the back of the ambulance. Paramedics were barking orders to each other as they hooked Sam to the internal machines.

"I was able to staunch the bleed from his arm easily but we only had three pints of blood here. He needs another four. We tried to compensate with additional IV fluids but he's still dangerously low." The man paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "Had I known it was going to take this long, I would have sent for the blood but there simply wasn't time or personnel. The lung started to give us grief and tried to collapse, but we were able to cease that from happening with our limited equipment."

Dean made his way near the back of the ambulance, clearly seeing there was no room for him. "What do we do now?" There was a slight shake to his voice as he threw his fists into his pockets.

"The ride to Forest Glen is about half an hour. The staff is ready for him when he arrives. Hopefully, we were able to inflate the lung enough to keep it going and the fluids will sustain him until we get him there."

"And what happens once he gets there," Dean asked as the doors were shut and his brother was whisked away, sirens blaring.

"They'll readjust what we did to stabilize his lung and fill him up with O+. If he makes it to the hospital, he should be alright," the doctor added, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder. "I know it's hard to watch someone you love in pain, son. Technically, he shouldn't still be here, but he fought to stay. I'm guessing you had something to do with that." He patted his shoulder at an attempt to reassure.

-o-o-o

The ambulance was in the bay when Dean arrived, but just barely. As he ran into the ER, he saw the chestnut locks wheeled down the hallway. He made his way over to the doors to watch Sam hurried down the hallway.

"He made it. He's a trooper." It was the female paramedic who'd originally helped at the cabin. "The lung tried to give us guff, but we were able to work it. I think he'll be fine." The smile was genuine and lit up her face, easing Dean's tension immediately.

"Thank you. You have no idea… well, actually you probably do." Dean smirked feeling relief flood through his body. "I'm Dean, by the way."

"Katie. Glad to have helped." She turned to go, pulling gloves from her fingers and walking back to the ambulance.

He stood for a moment more before deciding to collapse in the nearest chair. Dean pulled out his phone and called Bobby.

-o-o-o

Sitting next to Sam's bed was harder than he'd thought. They'd finally removed the vent, replacing it with a nasal canula but the pallor of his brother's skin didn't make him feel any better.

Blood still dripped steadily down the tubing to Sam's arm, filling him up little by little. The laparoscopic surgery to repair the lung had gone well enough but the loss of blood was still alarming. The doctors felt that he'd received enough oxygen through the whole ordeal that there shouldn't be any permanent damage but it didn't help ease Dean's conscience.

"I just wanted to try and lighten things up. I never would have…" Dean stopped, watching his brother for any kind of reaction. He knew he was still sedated but it was always easier to talk to Sam when he couldn't talk back.

"I don't know what's going on, Sammy. What you're doing, who you are. What you can do scares the crap out of me. Watching you with Samhain? I just…" He stood, pacing the small room, feeling like a catharsis of the Sam proportion was exactly what he needed at the moment. "And Ruby, I just… I can't believe you trust her. Why would you trust her, Sammy?"

The phone rang next to Sam's bed, scaring the thoughts out of Dean's head. He looked at it for a minute before finally picking it up.

"Hello?"

"_Ever think to put your phone on vibrate instead of turning it off, idjit_?"

"Sorry, Bobby. I wasn't thinking…"

"_Yeah, kid, I know_," Bobby replied, softer than before. "_Listen. I figured out what she used. It sounds like Sam figured it out near the end, but some of her mojo might still be floating in his veins. After snooping around her house for a while, I found a counter spell…_"

-o-o-o-o

By the time Bobby made it out to the hospital, Sam was showing signs of waking soon. He was still hooked up to an IV and they had just removed the last of the blood. Sam looked awful but, according to Dean, it was a vast improvement from earlier in the day. That didn't make Bobby feel much better.

"I think if we inject this right into the IV port, it'll work much faster," Bobby stated, pulling a small vial from his coat. "We'll have to do this fast. If they think that anyone is messing with him, we'll get hauled away and shoved in the cell next to the nut case."

Officer Sheila Grady had found Wendy cowering in the basement trying to say that she was a victim in the whole matter. It didn't take long for the officer to yank her out of the cellar, cuff her and send her off for evaluation at the local loony bin. Wendy wouldn't be going anywhere for a while, and Bobby made sure they knew all about her "Make your own Black Magic Altar" in the lower half of her home. That was, of course, after he took everything he needed to help Sam.

Bobby added a few drops to the port, making sure the liquid was clear and blended right in. He quickly hid the vial and hoped that the effects would help bring Sam back to normal and ease some of the affects of the drugs.

"This is just crazy. I mean, what the hell, Bobby? We walk into the library, the _library_, to do research and Sam gets whammied? We just can't catch a break and I should've known better." Dean pulled a hand down his face as his feet retraced the same steps they'd been following for the last few hours.

"_Jess_…" It was barely a whisper but Bobby watched as Dean honed in like a hawk to its prey.

"Sammy? You in there?"

Weary eyes blinked slowly open, searching for something in the room that he couldn't focus on. Bobby caught the look of distress on Dean's face as the first words he mumbled were not his own name.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, kiddo, I'm here. Bobby, too."

"It was Jessica. She tried to kill me…" Sam's face scrunched as obvious discomfort trailed across his features. "Told me the angels would help me."

"Hey, just relax right now, okay? We'll get to the bottom of this, I promise," Dean carded a quick hand through his brother's hair, instantly calming him.

Bobby's heart swelled seeing the love they still had for each other, even after everything that had happened between them. Sam's eyes fluttered for a minute then he fell back into an easy sleep.

-o-o-o-

"So, you thought Jess was here," Dean began tenderly, clearly watching his language for Sam's sake.

"She looked just like her. Smelled like her," Sam answered, sighing heavily. "But she didn't know what had happened. She wasn't angry at me at all for letting her die. I should have known then that she was a fake." He pushed the sheet away making to get up when Dean came swooping in.

"Hang on there, cowboy. Let's make sure that everything is back to normal," Dean said, halting Sam with his hand but not pushing for fear of causing injury. "And for the record, you didn't let her die. You just didn't know."

"Whatever." Resisting Dean was futile so he sat back on the raised bed, looking anxiously at the door. While all the O+ blood had been restored, he was missing the kick of the demon blood.

Dean would kill him if he knew about that. Hell, he'd kill him if knew just what had gone down with Ruby. Sleeping with a demon wasn't exactly in the _Top 10 of the Winchester Guide of Demon Hunting._ Maybe someday Dean would understand why he was doing what he needed to, but for the moment, that was his secret, like Dean's time in Hell was his.

On cue, Bobby walked in the door shaking some paperwork that Sam prayed were for his release.

"Ready to blow this pop stand, Sam?"

"You have no idea," Sam replied attempting the sheet toss again. He carefully swung his feet over the side, pausing at the slight pull on is chest. The serum Bobby concocted had helped to ease the witch's potion from his system, but it also was supposed to have a magical quality that helped heal the wounds that were created by her. Bobby thought that part was hooey but for some reason, it worked with Sam.

The wheelchair came into the room for Sam's discharge and while he wanted to walk out of his own volition, he knew hospital policy. He sat with a grunt and they made their way towards the exit.

-o-o-o-o-

After a few days of rest, and finding someone to take on the original case, Bobby decided he could take his leave of the boys. They waved him off and thanked him profusely for his assistance, yet again.

"You boys are family, you know that." And with that, he was gone.

Sam was still a little slow and sluggish but overall feeling much better. His color was returning and the fever was very slight. Overall, things were going well.

They'd decided to clean up a bit and make their way to the nearest diner for some grub. The place wasn't bad and even had its own DJ spinning Top 40 stuff. It was clean and not overwhelmingly loud or dark, so it fit the bill.

Perusing the menu, Sam decided on a burger to try and get some protein back into his diet. Dean was on board with that menu option, making it two.

"I'll be right back," Sam said, rising slowly and indicating the washroom. "Don't get kidnapped by any witches while I'm gone."

Dean's face crinkled into a smile, saluting him with the beer. "No chance, Sammy. No witches 'round here. We're skank free!" he answered, taking a huge gulp of beer.

Sam huffed a laugh and walked slowly towards the back of the bar where the restrooms were located. He swung the men's room door open to see Ruby standing in front of him.

"Thank God."

"Well, not quite," Ruby replied locking the bathroom behind him.

-o-o-o

Dean sat at the table watching for Sam to come from the bathroom. He still felt guilty at the set up and how it turned out. _The road to Hell is paved with good intentions…_ No way was he letting Sam out of his sight anytime soon. At least there was only one way out of the bathroom, he'd made sure of that when they arrived.

The lights in the place dimmed slightly and Dean's eyes opened in a panic.

"We've had a special request for _REO Speedwagon_ for Dean Hall, who's seated right over there," the DJ announced, pointing directly at Dean. "Unfortunately we're not a karaoke bar, but we understand that Dean won the Kansas City Sing-off not too long ago with his favorite song, "I Can't Fight this Feeling." So, Dean, this one's for you! Congrats on your victory."

The opening keyboard rift filled the bar as people smiled and encouraged Dean to sing along with the lyrics. He waved them off, thanking them for the gesture. All the while waiting for Sam to come back into view so he could skewer him.

The end of the song thankfully came about along with a round of applause aimed at Dean. He smiled and looked around to come face to face with his brother's beaming face.

"Isn't he the greatest! That's my brother!" Sam jostled Dean's shoulder with his good arm, hitting it a few times and taking his seat again across from him. Sam's coat opened slightly to reveal a flask in the inner coat. _I don't remember Sam grabbing the holy water when we left. Weird… _Dean brushed it off more concerned about the beat down at hand.

An accusatory finger pointed inches from Sam's face. "You are _so_ dead!"

Sam's high-pitched laughter filled the table as he grabbed his beer and took a swig, wiping at his mouth. "It was the _least_ I could do after you set me up with a librarian."

Dean took it for what it was, and smiled in return, pausing for a moment. "You look a lot better. I guess a good pee will do that for you, huh?"

Sam looked uncomfortable, shifting in the seat and grabbing his beer again, taking another quick swallow. "Yeah, I guess."

And just like that, they were back to square one.

So absorbed with the commotion around him and because of him, Dean never noticed the short brunette sneaking out the back door holding her arm with a paper towel.

The End.


End file.
